


this glorious, epic story

by whyyesitscar



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: just another collection of fic prompts from tumblr, mostly jestergard. ratings/pairings may change later, specific prompts are in the chapter titles./ch. 13: beau and yasha, post episode 126
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord & Beauregard Lionett, Fjord & Jester Lavorre, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre/Yasha
Comments: 43
Kudos: 283





	1. in my defense, it seemed like a brilliant plan at the time (jestergard)

**Author's Note:**

> title quote from a poem by nayyirah waheed.

“In my defense, it seemed like a brilliant plan at the time.”

Beau huffs and sneaks a glance around the corner of the building they were hiding behind. “No offense, Jester, but isn’t that kind of how all of your ideas go?”

“Well, yeah!” Jester pouts. “And we’ve come out okay from all of them so far, or we wouldn’t be here.”

“I—yeah, okay. That’s fair. I just don’t want you to feel encouraged when we get out of this one because it was—with respect—a really, really dumb idea.”

“Okay, okay. I hear that.” Jester smiles anyway. “How are we going to get out of it?”

“Oh, you’re asking me now?”

“Sure, because apparently I have stupid ideas…”

“No, Jester—”

“I’m only kidding, Beau,” Jester winks. “Also I definitely think those guards are getting closer; I think I just heard one trip.”

“Okay, well.” Beau runs a hand through her hair and leans against the cool brick. “PDA is always a good deterrent; no one wants to watch anyone make out in an alley.”

“That only works if we can blend in somewhere and it’s, like, two in the morning and we’re the only ones in the alley. Plus, they definitely know what we look like.”

“All good points.”

Jester smiles and waggles her eyebrows. “You just want to make out with me, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” Beau grins back. She shakes her head and stands up straighter. “Well, you’re out of spells and there’s no running away, so—here.” She holds out her staff and waits for Jester to take it.

“I can’t use your staff, Beau.”

“You don’t have any weapons and I only need these.” She holds up her fists. Jester rolls her eyes. “Just, you know, crack someone on the head with it; it isn’t hard—”

There’s a hand on her shoulder and Beau whirls around, getting in as many punches as she can. Surprisingly, the guard drops to the ground almost immediately.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he groans, clutching his nose.

“What the fuck is wrong with me? You guys are the ones chasing us!”

“Fjord is on his way dressed as a guard,” Nott’s voice interrupts very loudly inside Beau’s head. “We’re on our way, too. You can reply to this message! Fjord is on his way…”

“Have you just been blasting that out until you got in range?” Beau whispers back. There’s no response, but she assumes the answer is yes when the rest of them stumble into the alley a few moments later.

Nott looks down at Fjord and back up at Beau a couple of times. “Well, I’m really glad my message made it to you before Fjord showed up.”

“No, it fucking didn’t, Nott!” Fjord shouts. His nose sounds like it’s clogged with a lot of blood.

“You sound like Vandren again,” Jester says.

“Yeah, that’s the point of a disguise, Jessie.”

“Plus, you sound a lot more pathetic when you whine in your regular voice,” Nott adds.

Fjord sighs and reaches a hand upwards. “Can someone help me up?”

“Okay.” Yasha threads her way through the group and lifts him up with one hand, dangling him a few inches off the ground for a moment.

Beau brushes a few small rocks off of Fjord’s shirt and avoids his glare. “Well, thanks for coming to get us. You didn’t have to.”

“We will always come to get you, Beauregard,” Caleb says, furrowing his brows. “But we should leave quickly, in case we are found again.”

“Sure, yeah. Lead the way.” Beau swings her arms as if shooing the rest of them out of the alley. They file out, some having to squeeze their way more than others.

Jester grabs her arm right before Beau exits herself.

“Jes, we gotta go…”

“Yeah, okay, but—” She drops Beau’s arm and walks closer, trapping Beau between Jester and the wall. She plays with one of the buttons on Beau’s jacket. “It was really hot, how you punched the guard. You know, even though it was Fjord.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Jester pulls Beau down even as she moves closer, pressing Beau into the wall. She kisses Beau all fang and tongue, eager and breathless. Jester’s tail snakes around Beau’s left leg, creeping upwards toward her hips. 

“I want to make out with you, too,” she purrs.

“Fuck.” Escape is forgotten as Beau wraps her arms around Jester, leaning in again before—

“WHERE ARE YOU!” Nott interrupts once more.

“We’re coming!” Beau shouts back.

“Not yet,” Jester winks.

Beau grabs her hand and runs.


	2. you believe me, don't you? (jestergard)

“There’s no way that’s true.”

“Jester...” Fjord sighs.

“It’s not, Fjord; it’s not! The Traveler wouldn’t do that to me!”

Around the room, everyone distances themselves in some way. Nott’s ears droop and she pulls at them anxiously; Caleb’s hands fly into his hair. Yasha’s fingers twitch as if to reach out but she stops them. Caduceus is silent as he rests a hand on her shoulder.

It’s just Beau and Fjord left, eyes wide and sad at the sight of their crumbling cleric. Fjord crosses his arms and looks at the floor, and Beau—Beau doesn’t know what to do. She’d know what to do if they were alone. If no one else were here, Beau would guide Jester to the balcony and wait, let her start the conversation on her own terms. They’d start off side-by-side but Jester can never stay still for too long and she would eventually press into Beau—maybe lean their heads together or sneak behind her, rest her chin on Beau’s shoulder and squeeze her around the middle. Beau has been trained to be so quiet, but more than anything she knows how to be quiet with Jester.

But they’re not alone and people are waiting. Beau leans on her staff for a little, stalling. She glances around at the rest of the group but their faces offer nothing. Fjord clears his throat too loudly, gives her an expectant glare when she looks over. 

Beau closes her eyes, straightens her back, and takes a deep breath. 

“Jester, I, um—” She walks forward and reaches for the symbol of the Traveler on Jester’s belt. There’s enough time for Jester to stop her if she wanted to, but. Beau unties it, looks at it for longer than she ever has. The metal is scratched, the varnish chipping in places, but it’s as cared for as Jester can manage with the life they lead.

“The Traveler,” Beau says as she holds onto it, out of Jester’s reach, “is not who you think he is.”

“Beau, don’t say that.”

“Jes.”

“He’s my best friend, Beau!”

“That doesn’t mean—he can still lie to you.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Jester whispers, her eyes filling with tears. It’s only because she knows Fjord wouldn’t let her that Beau doesn’t back down right then. “He loves me so much.”

“I know, Jes, and I’m not saying he doesn’t, but there are—there are bad ways to love someone.”

Jester shakes her head, the bells and baubles on her horns tinkling brighter than the mood in the room. “Not him. He hasn’t ever been bad to me.”

“Gods, I can’t—” Beau runs a hand through her hair and looks helplessly back at Fjord, at Caleb or Caduceus or Yasha or anyone else who wants to help. What she gets is a whole lotta jack shit.

“Okay.” She takes a steadying breath and flips the metal symbol with her thumb, catching it between two fingers. “Okay.” Beau tosses it over her shoulder and smirks when it clatters to the floor, quickly followed by a string of cursing as Fjord picks it up.

She grasps Jester’s hand and starts walking them toward the door, not looking at anyone else as they go.

“Everyone else fuck off, yeah? We’ll be back.”

Beau slows once they get in the hallway, preferring to walk at Jester’s side rather than pull her. They don’t speak as they turn corners, ascend the stairs, walk into their shared room. Beau rests her hand on the small of Jester’s back as she pushes open the double doors to the balcony.

Beside her, Jester sniffles.

It’s a little chilly but Jester is never really cold, and Beau can handle it. The breeze is nice anyway, refreshing and soothing, and Beau takes a moment just to feel it.

“You believe me, don’t you?” Jester murmurs. “Beau?”

Beau takes a deep breath and turns. Jester is farther away than she usually is. Beau reaches out anyway.

She gathers her thoughts, taking the time to rearrange them into words that won’t hurt as much as they could. “I believe—I believe that he was a good friend when you didn’t have many. I don’t think he asked or made you do anything you didn’t want to. But he didn’t, he didn’t tell you a lot either, Jester, and that was definitely on purpose. Caleb and I found some pretty reliable sources that—”

“I’m not talking about Caleb!” Jester shouts. “I asked you, Beau, I asked if you believed me and you haven’t said yes yet!” She pulls her hand back—maybe in anger, maybe on purpose. Beau holds on tighter.

“Jes. Fuck.” She huffs and looks up. “I believe you, so much. All the time, about everything; I’m always right there with you. But this time—there are facts you don’t have, things he hasn’t told you. And I’m just asking for you to...also be here. With me.” She tapers off, super lame, and waits a little more before tearing her gaze from the clouds.

Jester is looking right at her. 

“You can cast your truth zone or whatever on me,” Beau offers. “I’ll answer every question.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Beau shrugs. “Then don’t. I’m not—I think some pretty important people in your life have manipulated you. I’m not going to be one of them.”

Jester finally laughs. Just a little, but it’s there. “Which one? Manipulative? Or important?”

“Hopefully not manipulative,” Beau chuckles. “You know I would never—”

“I know, Beau.”

Beau waits, for Jester to keep going or give her any other clue. She could take this out if she wanted; she could pull Jester in for a hug until she fell asleep and then never bring it up again. There’s a good chance the rest of the party would follow her lead on it. Everyone knows Beau and Jester are special.

But Beau and Jester are special because they’re honest, because they try to be whatever the other one needs. And right now, Beau needs Jester to listen.

“It goes two ways,” she eventually says. “Belief and trust and all that shit.”

“I know.”

“You gotta believe that I wouldn’t lie to you about something this important. I would never hurt you on purpose.”

“I know,” Jester repeats softly. “But maybe, maybe you’re not doing it on purpose; maybe there are things you’re wrong about or even more stuff that you and I _both_ don’t know—”

“Please, Jester. Listen.” She swipes a few tears from Jester’s cheeks. Beau would keep going but they’re falling too fast. “We’re not—I’m not wrong about this,” she says, steady and gentle. “Sleep on it, for tonight at least. We’re all here, and I’ll circle back in a few days or whatever. You just—”

Jester crinkles her eyebrows together. Her eyes are puffy and her nose is just a little purple from crying. Freckles dot her cheeks; Beau can see them so clearly in the moonlight. It’s unfair, she thinks, that Jester can be so sad and so fucking pretty at the same time.

Beau pulls Jester toward her, rests her chin on any part of Jester’s head that isn’t also horn. “I, um—it’s a new thing for me, you know. Loyalty and, uh, and friendship and stuff. I never felt it until you guys. And you know I would, um— _god_.” 

Beau clears her throat, blinks away the tears trying to crawl up from her throat. She hesitates a little before pulling back to kiss Jester’s forehead. Slowly, softly, with enough room between them that Jester could push her away if she wanted to. 

(Beau stays where she is.)

“I would die for anyone in this house,” she says, nestling into Jester’s neck. “No question I would die for them. But you, if I could keep you safe or make you happy or whatever—I just want to help. I want—”

“Thanks, Beau,” Jester whispers.

“Yeah, sure, anytime.” They rattle out laughs, hug each other a little closer. “No sweat.”

“No sweat,” Jester echoes.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

Jester presses a kiss to her cheek.

Beau’s the one who falls asleep, this time.


	3. i can tell you're lying (jestergard)

“Hey!”

You come so, _so_ close to punching Jester in the face. If there were about two fewer steps in between you, you probably would have. As it is, you duck into a defensive stance instead.

Jester cackles at you until your breathing goes back to normal.

“What the fuck, Jester?” You crane your neck up, twist from side to side as you try to determine where she came from. “Where did you even come from?”

Jester clasps her hands behind her back and twirls a little. “I Dimension Doored here from the inn.”

“How did you even know where I was?”

Jester giggles. “Caduceus cast Locate Object on your pants.”

“Shit.” You grin as wide as you can, an expression you wear often when Jester’s around. “That’s pretty genius, actually.”

“I know, right?”

“Yeah. Feel like walking back with me?”

“Why do you think I’m here, duh.”

You fall into step next to Jester, bumping her shoulder. She almost knocks you down when she bumps back. Strong even when she’s playful—god, you love it.

“Soooo,” she pries, “where were you?”

“Uhh, at a, uh, at a bar. Drinking.”

“You couldn’t drink at the inn?”

“I mean, don’t drink where you shit, right? Or is that eating?”

“Wait, you shit in bars?”

“What?”

“Beau.”

“Jester.”

“Where were you, where were you, where were you...” There is a barrage of fingers at your side, poking relentlessly in all the soft spots only Jester seems to find. 

“Ahh, quit it!” You’re a monk. You should be able to twist and wriggle away from her and you definitely try. But Jester is everywhere.

“I really was at a bar!” you shout. “The Saucy Taint or whatever!”

“The Frothy Pint?”

“Pint, taint, same thing. But yes!”

Jester stops and looks at you, furrowing her brows. “But The Frothy Pint is over there,” she says, pointing down the street in front of you. “Why were you coming from the other way?”

“Well, I mean, I _started_ at the Taint—”

“Pint.”

“Sure. But you never want to stay at the same bar all night, Jes.”

She nods like she agrees, but you’re pretty sure most of that went in one ear and out the other. “Okay, so, you got super drunk—”

“I wasn’t _super_ drunk—”

“You don’t drink as much as Nott, Beau, but you can mostly keep pace with her, so. But whatever, you got drunk and then youuu....”

“And then I....took a walk.”

She lifts one eyebrow almost all the way to her hair. “You took a walk?”

“Mhm.”

“You took a walk at, like, ass-crack-of-dawn o’clock?”

“Yeah, for sure,” you say, nodding a little too aggressively. “You know, scaled some buildings, snuck around a few dark alleys, crept into the shadows. The monk version of a walk.”

“That sounds like the rogue version of a walk to me.”

“Jes, why do you care so much?”

Jester pouts. “I always care about you, Beau.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I know, and that’s great. But why do you care so much _now_?”

“I dunno, just curious, I guess,” she shrugs. “Plus I can tell you’re lying, so now I really want to know.”

“Jester.” You take a deep breath and settle into the most sincere smile you can manage, stopping in the street to make sure she looks at you. “I got shit-faced at the bar, walked around a bit and avoided every guard I could, and then I woke up on the roof of a building a few blocks back covered in bird shit.” You flare out your pants, take off your coat and flip it around to show the stains. “That’s all.”

She still doesn’t believe you, you can tell. Years of training from the Cobalt Soul and Jester is the only person you have trouble hiding from. You wait for her to call you on it, and she keeps getting closer—her lips straighten out, her cheeks fall, anger and sadness build in her eyes. 

(If she asks you one more thing, if she presses just a little more, you’ll tell her. Just one more question and you’ll confess that you were at that bar, that you did walk around the city avoiding guards for a good portion of the night because you were a drunken rowdy disruption. And you did wake up on a roof; you’ve got the smell of bird shit to prove that.

But somewhere in between, when it was too early to be morning but too late to be night, you wound up at a second bar, dirtier, smaller, and darker than the first one. It’s never the first bar anyone goes to but it’s where they all end up. 

You bought more beer and drank it slowly, made your way to a dark corner and kissed a very pretty genasi woman—air, you think—until she got bored. You don’t know her name, and you definitely called her by the same wrong one the whole night. 

The tortle behind the bar heard the rest, wiping the counter around your head as you slurred a flurry of complaints about how hard it is to be in love with your best friend.

When the sun started to peek in through the windows, they pushed you very, very slowly out of the bar.

After that, _up_ is all you remember.)

But the moment passes and Jester smiles instead, grabbing your hand and dragging you back to the inn.

You follow. 

Of course you follow.


	4. it's okay to cry (jestergard)

The tree on their roof is very large.

Jester knows this, obviously, sixty feet is a lot of tree; but it seems bigger now that she’s standing at the base of it. She looks up and up and she can’t see the top of it because there are so many branches in the way, but she knows Beau is up there. 

(Jester knows because she’s already looked all over the house, and asked around at a few taverns before she got bored. Beau can’t teleport like Caleb or go invisible like Nott, so there’s really only one place she could be. Unless she’s, like, drunk in an alley, but it’s still morning and even Beau has standards. 

So. The tree.)

Beau probably got up there in ten seconds and technically Jester could Dimension Door up even faster. But what if she lands on Beau, or on a branch that can’t hold her, or she casts it so badly that she misses the tree entirely and then she’s falling and Beau can’t catch her and maybe she tries to Polymorph into a bird but that doesn’t work either and she splats on the ground and suddenly Jester’s dead just because she didn’t want to climb a tree.

She’s gonna be grumpy about it the whole way up, though.

It’s easier once she gets about ten feet up and there are more branches. Jester is sure she’s going the stupid way up—it’s not a straight line and she almost falls a bunch of times and she’s _super_ slow at it. But she’s getting there.

Finally, she reaches a point where she can see Beau, sitting on a branch about five feet above her. 

“Beau!” she whisper-yells. “Is there room for me next to you?”

There is a long, long pause before Beau answers. “No.”

“Oh.” Jester hugs tighter to the tree with her right hand while she brushes bark off her skirt with her left. “Well, can you come down to me? This branch is pretty big.” Again, Beau doesn’t answer. She also doesn’t move, actually. Sometimes it’s unnerving to see her so still. “Please?” Jester presses.

Beau sighs and slides off her perch, letting herself hang by one arm while she judges where she can land. Jester watches, absolutely captivated, as Beau finds a different angle, twists her body, and with a little bit of wind-up, swings gracefully down to Jester’s branch.

Jester leans against the trunk of the tree to make room. 

“Hi,” she murmurs.

Beau walks out onto the branch until she’s almost at the end and sits down. “Hey, Jes.” Jester takes a big breath and walks out, too, sitting within arm’s reach at least, even if she wants to be closer.

“Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Beau shrugs. “Totally fine.”

“They’re not dead, you know. Caduceus’s spell worked.”

“That’s good.”

“Beau...” Jester reaches her hand out and rests it between them, just in case. Just so Beau knows it’s there, if she needs it. “This happens, you know. We’ve all taken some pretty scary hits in a fight. That doesn’t make it better, but. It happens and we deal with it.”

“I’m not mad about the fight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Beau swings backwards over the branch and Jester almost has a million heart attacks. But she holds on with her legs and just hangs there, upside down with her hands clasped behind her head.

“What are you doing?” Jester asks, though it’s kind of a dumb question.

“Y’know, just chillin’.”

“Beau.”

“You know these lights look even cooler from this angle? You should try it.”

“I definitely couldn’t do that as well as you can.”

“Maybe you could,” Beau says. “I’m nothing special these days.”

Jester rolls her eyes and almost swings over just so she can yell at Beau to her face. But she definitely wouldn’t be able to stay like that, so she compromises, lies face-down on the branch and scoots up until she’s right above Beau without having to get on top of her legs.

Jester stacks one fist over the other and props her head up. “That’s a lie, Beau.” She looks down and finds Beau looking back, neck bent uncomfortably. “You’re so special all the time.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Dairon really appreciates me right now.”

“It’s not—there’s no way Dairon will be mad at you, Beau.”

“Yeah, there is, Jester. They asked me to do my homework before that fight, and I did it wrong. I should have taken that Firebolt to the chest.”

“It’s not your fault, Beau, I promise.”

“I almost got them killed on some bad intel. Seems like that’s my bad.”

Jester lets one arm hang freely. (Just in case). “Are you cold out here?”

“Little bit.”

“We can sit by the window in our room and lock the doors and I’ll tell everyone not to bother us, and then at least you could be warm while you hide.”

“Isn’t Dairon in our room?”

“No. Yasha gave up her bed; she said she’s gonna stay up here with Caduceus tonight.”

“Wait, are they here right now?”

“I don’t know,” Jester shrugs. “I was kind of focused on not falling off this tree; I didn’t look around for anyone but you.”

Beau laughs just a little, and reaches up to take Jester’s hand. “Hold on, will you?”

“What?”

Jester barely has time to react before Beau lets go of the tree entirely until she’s just hanging from Jester’s hand. Her shirt is rustling in a breeze that feels a lot stronger now that Jester’s paying attention.

“Beau!”

“Gods, this feels _great_!” Beau yells into the air.

“Beau, are you crazy!”

Beau lets off a long, obnoxious cheer. Jester takes that to be a yes.

“Okay, you can pull me up.”

Jester Dimension Doors them to their balcony instead, where the breeze is much more manageable and not as dangerous. She punches Beau on the shoulder, harder than she normally would.

It wipes the smile off of Beau’s face immediately. “What the fuck, Jes?”

“What the fuck to me? It’s a good thing I’m so strong or I would have dropped you!”

“I mean, yeah,” Beau says, crinkling her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have grabbed on if I didn’t think you had me.”

“Okay, well—” Jester huffs and crosses her arms. “We have to stay out here now because I can’t go inside until I calm down.” 

She leans on the railing, turns her head to hide a smile when Beau leans next to her and bumps her shoulder.

“Sorry, Jes,” she whispers. “Guess that one’s on me too, huh?”

“Just that one,” Jester concedes. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so guilty and sad.”

Beau nods. The wind blows a strong gust and loosens the ribbon in Beau’s hair. Her top knot droops a little but she doesn’t make any moves to fix it.

“One time,” she says softly, “when my parents were still kind of okay, my mom got hit with some gnarly case of food poisoning, the exploding-out-of-both-ends kind. She was in and out of the bathroom all night and we crossed paths once when I wanted some water. I remember she came out on her way back to bed and she was so pale and sweaty and she’d burst some blood vessels from barfing so much so there were red spots all around her eyes. I didn’t know it was just blood vessels then but, pretty familiar with it now, I guess.” Beau scratches at the back of her neck, unties her hair ribbon. Jester looks closer and sees that her fingers are trembling.

“It sucks that they turned out to be shitty,” Beau continues. “But the scariest thing you can ever learn when you’re little is that your parents are people. You know?”

She puffs her cheeks up, rattling out a shaky breath, and Jester’s done being subtle.

“Beau.” She rests a hand on Beau’s shoulder, then slides it along her back to the other side, pulling Beau close to her. “I didn’t realize Dairon meant so much to you.”

“They’re—we’re friends,” Beau deflects. “I didn’t have many people on my side at the Cobalt Soul. I’d hate to kill one of the few who was.”

Jester studies Beau’s face—her slack cheeks, tired eyes, limp hair. There’s still some dried blood on her forehead. She’s white-knuckling the railing so hard Jester’s surprised she hasn’t broken it.

“Hold on,” she says, straightening up. “Don’t move; don’t, like, climb up the side of the house or something because I can’t follow if you do.”

“Okay,” Beau chuckles.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay, Jes.”

“Okay.”

Jester darts into their room and looks around for Beau’s comfy pair of slippers that she won’t admit to loving. She grabs them and a blanket, pausing for a moment to send a message to Caleb.

_If you’re awake, please send Frumpkin to our room. The door is not locked and Beau is sad._

Jester goes back out to the balcony and drapes the blanket over Beau’s back. “Pick up your feet for a second,” she instructs.

Instead of picking them up one at a time, Beau leans against the railing and lifts herself a few inches off the floor. Jester rolls her eyes and drops the slippers.

“Thanks, Jes.”

Jester puts her arm back where it was, tickling Beau’s neck a little. “When I was little, my mamma told me that even though I had to hide from people at the Chateau, I never had to hide from her, and that it’s never good to pretend you’re not feeling something because if you do that, then one day you’re going to be too full of feelings and explode.” She leans her head against Beau’s. “It’s okay to cry, Beau. You can feel helpless and sad and you don’t have to hide from me.”

Beau sniffs and nods, tugging the blanket a little tighter. “I don’t think you saw it; I think you were helping Caleb but, um, it was a bad hit. I mean, no hit is good but this one—their skin turned black, like, right away and it kinda looked like it was flaking? I didn’t even know that happened and I just, I can’t get that out of my head, Jes.” She slumps to her knees and leans her head on the railing. The blanket covers her body entirely.

“ _Fuck_!” she yells. 

Jester can hear the stuttering of stifled sobs. She pats the Beau-blob until she finds her neck and kneels down next to her, rubbing small, comforting circles into her back.

“it’s okay, Beau,” Jester murmurs. “You can lean on me.”

Beau doesn’t, but she does open up the side of the blanket so Jester can duck under. Jester pulls Beau down so they can sit in their cocoon because it hurts to stay on your knees for too long. Jester sits next to Beau as they slide their legs through the beams in the railing, dangling their feet over the edge.

Behind them, their bedroom door creaks open and a soft fey cat crawls into Beau’s lap moments later. She lets out a burble of a laugh, wet and wobbly, and worms her fingers into the fur at the top of Frumpkin’s head.

“Seems like Frumpkin shows up a lot when I’m sad,” Beau says, looking pointedly at Jester.

“He’s a very good cat,” Jester replies wisely. “Probably the best cat.”

“High praise, coming from you.”

Jester smiles and settles her hand on top of Beau’s, but Beau picks it up instead. She brings it to her lips, kisses the back of it gently. Jester feels like someone has set a fire inside her chest.

“Maybe you don’t believe me right now, but I really don’t think Dairon will be mad at you when they wake up,” Jester says softly. “I wouldn’t be, if it were me.”

“The only way someone is taking you down with a Firebolt, Jes, is if they kill me first.”

Beau keeps her gaze locked resolutely in front of her, but Jester can see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Jester was wrong before, about someone setting her on fire. No one else did it because fire didn’t exist until it erupted inside of her.

They sit in silence for a while after that, until Jester can see the skin on Beau’s bare feet start to creep its way to blue. Beau is basically asleep at this point, mouth open as she slouches against Jester’s shoulder.

Jester smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind Beau’s ear. She pats Frumpkin a few times and he gets up, curling around her legs as she stands. She keeps a hand on Beau’s shoulder so she doesn’t fall and then picks her up, adjusting her hands under the fluffy weight of the comforter.

“‘M awake,” Beau mumbles.

Jester snorts. “Barely. But you definitely shouldn’t fall asleep out here.”

She deposits Beau on her bed and closes the balcony doors. She says goodbye to Frumpkin with a few skritches on his head. He chirps his thanks and bounces into the hallway.

Beau has woken up a little bit more, enough to undress but not enough to untie her sash as quickly as she usually does. Jester giggles from her side of the room as she watches Beau struggle with it.

“How ‘bout you come here and help instead of laughing at me?” Beau grumbles.

“Okay.” Jester giggles one more time. She takes off the jewelry from her horns, leaving them on her bedside table before helping Beau. Beau focuses on unrolling her arm wraps while Jester unties all the important bits enough so Beau can pull them off herself.

She stands once she’s done and starts working on her own clothes.

“Hey, Jes?” Beau sniffles and wipes her nose inelegantly across the back of her hand. “I have a, uh, maybe a weird question.”

“Okay.”

“These beds are big enough for both of us—”

“That’s not weird, Beau; we’ve shared a bed so many times.”

“—and, you know, feel free to say no if it bothers you, but could we—share with less clothes than usual?”

Jester scrunches her nose. “What, like naked?”

“Well, I mean, it doesn’t—there are a few options, I guess; you know, tiers in between ‘clothes’ and ‘totally naked’, so...”

Jester smiles at Beau’s sputtering. “Naked is fine, Beau; I just wanted to make sure.” She peels off her top and undershirt to prove it. 

Beau blushes, though she doesn’t look away. “I don’t mean it like—well, read it however you want to read it as long as you’re comfortable, I guess.”

Jester finishes undressing and extinguishes the candles in the room while Beau follows suit. She saves the candle on Beau’s nightstand for last, watching its shadow dance across Beau’s cheeks as they slide underneath the covers.

The blanket’s still toasty from being wrapped around Beau on the balcony. It smells like her even after it’s been washed, like a dust cloud but spicy and warm. Beau rolls onto her side, close to the edge of the bed, like she’s still hesitant about getting too close to Jester.

Jester blows out the candle and tugs her back emphatically, wrapping as much of her around Beau as she can manage.

“Thanks, Jes,” Beau mumbles. It sounds like her mouth is squished against the pillow. “If this is—I really just don’t want to be lonely tonight, but I also don’t want to confuse things.”

“I’m not confused,” Jester mutters into Beau’s neck. She sweeps her thumb across Beau’s stomach. Beau’s skin is so soft it feels like there are butterflies in Jester’s heart. “I think...we’ve had a lot of times lately where we both could have stopped things, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” Beau echoes. She grips Jester’s arms a little tighter.

Jester presses a kiss to Beau’s chin, to the corner of her lips when she turns a little. Beau positively sinks back into her.

“Do you feel safe, Beau?” Jester breathes.

“With you?” Jester hums to the affirmative. “Always,” Beau clarifies.

Jester smiles, kisses her again.

“Then we can worry about everything else later.”


	5. nott spills the beans (jestergard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps this wasn't the lighthearted prompt the asker was imagining, but i have so many beau and beau + jester feelings to process after episode 92 that i couldn't resist. fair warning, most of this chapter deals with beau having an anxiety attack.

She’s almost asleep when she does lose her shit.

Everyone—altogether but also each of them separately—had offered to pay for the most extravagant rooms in whatever overpriced inn Kamordah had to offer, just to truly escape from the Lionett estate. But Beau still carried the tension from the afternoon in her shoulders and neck, and no amount of pillows or blankets were going to ease it away. So she’d taken a deep breath, smiled as sincerely as she could manage, and said that she preferred the dome. 

No one batted an eye or protested even a little bit. Beau’s heart rate spiked.

But they found a spot in a field that wasn’t as wet as the area around it, secluded enough to buy a little time on the small chance of an attack. Beau offered to take first watch but six voices shouted her down before she’d even finished speaking. Still, they didn’t say anything when she laid down near the edge, Jester curling against her a few minutes later.

It was easy enough to drift off, at first. Crying is exhausting, and Beau had cried more in the last five days than she had in the last five years. Her cheeks were puffy, her limbs were heavy, and Jester was warm. Beau settled into a hazy trance for a few minutes. 

But the night is loud and disruptive, both outside the hut and inside Beau’s head. There are bugs buzzing in the trees, owls hooting, the skitter of prey in the grass. Beau would be able to block them out if not for the drone of her father’s voice humming in her ears. She can hear everything he didn’t say, every lie he masked with false apologies. Jester sleeps behind her and suddenly everything is too loud—Beau can’t keep her eyes closed for another second, something bad will happen if she does; and she can’t stay still anymore because there are things out there, in here, everywhere, and she’s supposed to protect her friends.

She slips out of Jester’s arms, glances around quickly to see where Nott is keeping watch before creeping out of the dome toward the other side. There aren’t many trees around but she could walk a bit to find one, climb it and sit there until she calmed down or the sun rose. But what would she do at the top, what would she do sitting on a branch with nothing but the night and her thoughts?

Anyway, Beau can’t go too far because then she’ll have nothing to protect; she’s useless in a fight from too far away. It’s muggy out here, the air still holds onto the rain even if it isn’t falling. There isn’t much of a breeze. But she can move more than ten feet in either direction, so that’s exactly what she does. Beau paces without rhythm or purpose—sometimes in a straight line, sometimes in a circle. She moves her arms every once in a while but it’s not smooth. Everything is knobby and jerky and stilted, as if she’s forgotten all of her training. After a few minutes, Beau tugs off her boots and wipes her feet in the wet grass. She takes short steps—long steps—dragging herself, jumping a little, short steps.

She bites at the nail of every finger.

Beau thinks about going back to the dome to get her staff—to have something to hold onto or throw, she isn’t sure which. But with that comes the danger that she might wake someone else up, that she might not be quiet enough, and she’s been so loud today. 

Still, she decides that it’s worth it, takes a few big breaths and spins around to get it, and finds Nott looking up at her, worry in her eyes.

“Fuck, Nott!” she yells, entirely forgetting to be quiet. “What are you doing, aren’t you supposed to be on watch?”

“I got Yasha; she wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

“She can’t hold everything off by herself. Someone else should be with her; what if something happens?” 

She starts walking forward, quick and purposeful, but is stopped by Nott’s hand on her wrist. They don’t touch that often, certainly not as much as Nott does with Caleb or she does with Jester, and it’s a surprise to feel Nott’s long fingers on her skin. Beau flinches, not because it’s Nott, not because she’s a goblin—but because she’s there, because she’s solid and real.

“She’ll be fine,” Nott says, strong and steady. “This isn’t exactly a crime-ridden area, and Yasha’s definitely the most intimidating out of all of us.”

“I don’t know, I’d run away from those big fucking teeth you’ve got,” Beau fires back, then— “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”

“Can you let go of me?” Nott hesitates, unconsciously squeezing tighter. “I can’t—I need to move, Nott, I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“Okay, okay.” She lets go and Beau starts pacing again, scratching at the back of her neck. “Are the rest of them sleeping? Do they know I’m out here? I didn’t wake them up, did I?”

“Well,” Nott says slowly, “Yasha’s awake because I asked her to be. I think everyone else is asleep, though maybe not for too much longer.”

“Why?”

“You’re gonna wear a hole right through the ground at this rate.” She clears her throat. “I mean, you know, none of us are really deep sleepers, is what I meant. Except for Caduceus.”

“And Jester. And _Jester_ ,” Beau repeats when Nott doesn’t say anything.

“Let me get her,” Nott offers. “Her tail was twitching anyway, and you look tired, Beau.”

“Dude, I’m fucking drained.”

“Right, okay, so let me get Jester and she can help you calm down—”

“No, don’t, I don’t need Jes—I don’t need anyone right now.”

“Sure. Sure. I don’t really feel like going back in the dome right now though. Here is as good a place as any to stand.”

“Whatever.”

Beau goes back to walking, this time only in a straight line and with her head down. She counts her steps, watches her feet move until she’s not sure she can even feel herself controlling them. She lines them up, heel to toe, smiling a little when she doesn’t lose her balance or fling her arms out to steady herself. The monk is still in here, in this body of a girl.

“You probably don’t feel like talking,” Nott says after a few moments. “Did a lot of that today. But, well, we were all holding back in there. You as well, I think.”

“So?” Beau grumbles.

“So you...might want to yell? Or I can talk,” she backtracks quickly, seeing the look on Beau’s face. “I can talk as much as you need me to.”

“Can you stop—” Something rustles on the opposite side of the dome and Beau straightens up to find it. But she forgot to grab her goggles and Yasha is standing as well. Beau takes a few deep breaths and starts pacing again, a little slower this time. “Just quit worrying about what I need, okay? I’m fine. If I need anything, I’ll ask.”

Nott doesn’t believe her for a second, but she nods anyway. “Well, I know I was pretty rough when we first met, but I’ve learned to relax around my friends. Not that we’re—I mean, you’re still loud and difficult,” Nott winks. “But if you had asked me to pick your dad out of a crowd before today, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Not just because, you know, you never tell us anything, but because you’re nothing like him. That guy’s an asshole.”

“Sure. Yep.”

Nott falls into step next to Beau. “You know, I spent a long time missing my family and trying to get back to them that I didn’t see that I’d found another one. I think you built a lot of this family, Beau, and we don’t say it enough—and again, you specifically could stand to say it more. But we can all feel how much you care. I’ll always be grateful for the fact that you’re always there for Caleb, but the way you love Jester—”

A sharp intake of breath causes them both to stop and turn their heads. Jester is a few feet away, all furrowed brows and tearful eyes.

When she speaks, it’s hushed and reverent. “The way you—”

“God _damn it_!” Beau yells. Nott scurries away and steps behind Jester. “I can’t—god, I can’t—”

“I’m sorry, Beau, I—”

“Beau, please listen to my voice—”

There is bile rising in the Beau’s throat and even though it isn’t made of anything it still blocks any air from getting in, and she feels like a fish flopping on dry land, or like Dairon keeps knocking the wind out of her; punch after punch after punch...

She continues to gasp, bending over and bracing her hands on her knees. “I hate—I hate him—so— _much_!” Beau takes a few breaths, not as deeply as she knows she needs. “He’s so—standing there, full of shit—if that’s his idea of trying, I don’t think he’s ever tried in his entire life. And he just—” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “If he hadn’t thrown me out I wouldn’t have found all of you, and I can’t—I can’t stand that he’s responsible for the best part of my life, that he’s the one who gave me to you guys.”

Beau squats down, sitting back on her heels and threading her fingers behind her head.

She feels Jester’s strong hand on her back not a second later, smells the hair oil she always uses, basks in the sleep-warmth still emanating from her body. 

“Beau, he didn’t give you to us,” Jester whispers. “You did. Over and over again, every day.”

“Why can’t he let go of me, Jes?” Beau says, her voice shaky and small. “When will he let me go?”

Jester swallows a few times. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “But we’re always here to catch you.”

Beau nods and leans her weight onto Jester, breathing in the comfort of being next to her. She focuses on the freckle on the back of Jester’s hand, the one right underneath the first knuckle of her thumb. It’s blue in the daytime, a little darker than the color of her skin but still bright. At night it turns purple. More than once Beau has watched it change colors like so many of the bruises that dot her skin.

“Are you breathing better now?” Jester murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“Nott went back to the dome; she’s keeping watch with Yasha.”

“That’s good.”

“We can stay out here a little longer.”

“Sure.” Beau unfolds herself and sits down, stretching her legs out and leaning back on her arms. She closes her eyes and hangs her head back. Rain would be nice right about now.

“Beau? What did Nott mean?” Jester shifts in the grass, her tail resting against Beau’s ankle. “How do—how do you love me?”

Beau sighs. She could avoid the question, change the subject, tell Jester she’s too tired to talk. But there’s no ignoring it now, and they might as well tackle it while she’s still got steam.

She lifts her head to look at Jester, who’s pulling at the tips of her hair. “I’m stupid in love with you, Jessie,” she huffs, like it’s taking all of her effort just to say anything, and maybe it is. “I don’t know shit about the future and I definitely don’t plan for it but, I know that right now I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.” She shrugs. “That’s it.”

Jester nods slowly. “That’s it, huh,” she echoes. “That’s a lot to feel.”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t want to say anything I don’t mean, but I—well.” She swallows, sniffles a little. “I can’t say that I don’t feel it, too, maybe. A little. Or more than a little, I don’t know. But we don’t have to talk about it now.”

She sits down and scoots next to Beau, stretching out to match her. Jester giggles as she turns her head, and Beau falls just a little more at the glow of her cheek in the moonlight. It must read on her face because Jester suddenly turns serious. She wipes a tear from Beau’s chin, cradles her cheek in her hand, leans in, and kisses her. Soft and quick, a comfort more than anything else. But Beau has never felt safer than right now.

“Whatever it means,” Jester whispers as she pulls away, “I love you so much, Beau. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Beau nods. “Yeah, Jes. I believe you.”


	6. you're a terrible liar (jester/yasha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "from eden" by hozier

_honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago;_   
_idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword,_   
_innocence died screaming (honey, ask me i should know)—_   
_i slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door._

/

Yasha isn’t afraid of a lot, but the night unsettles her. She doesn’t tell the rest of the Mighty Nein—she doesn’t sleep much, either. Yasha was stolen in combat, brainwashed in the midst of violence; logic dictates that she should shrink back from a fight but it’s the night that makes her cower, the vulnerability that follows the dark.

Yasha hasn’t dreamed in years—her life is too full of nightmares.

She sees all manner of things when she closes her eyes—Zuala, a bloody field littered with bodies, a similar group only in a library, the devil who made her kill them. Molly. Beau, spilling everything on the floor of a cathedral. In the darkest hours of the night, Yasha lingers in shadow and wonders whether she really was coerced. She carries vengeance within her; perhaps it is simply too easy to corrupt.

It seems to be the curse of Yasha’s life, the way she takes comfort in the wrong people. Zuala was hers by choice but not by law, and they both suffered dearly for it. The Mighty Nein, this baffling group of people who won’t let her go, are in danger every minute Yasha spends with them. She feels the urge to leave every night—even more if there’s a storm—but she knows that if she cares to repair her friendships, she has to stay. And gods, does she care. She cares even though it will probably kill her.

Yasha takes as much comfort as she can without stealing. From Caleb, the man who understands regret and the impossibility of redemption. From Caduceus, whose faith is wrapped in death. From Nott, who continues to live even though she is stuck. And from Fjord, though Yasha feels guilty for taking what little he has to give.

And when her room is stifling, when the walls feel like they’re getting closer, Yasha sneaks onto the balcony off of Beau and Jester’s room and surrenders to the sting of the night. She sits and waits for the rain, for the cold bite that drives others inside. Yasha would love to succumb, but her hands can only hold so much of what Jester freely gives.

She will never be able to atone for stabbing Beau, but it is Jester who ties her stomach in knots. Jester, whose love no one ever has to earn, who watched her commit unspeakable acts and welcomed her back with an embrace. More than anything, that is what Yasha wants to run from, but Jester’s arms are too wide.

She thinks too often of the tiefling, where once Yasha used to think about Zuala. Her wife will never be gone, but there is blue, a flash of green, seeping into the memories of brown. Yasha unravels a little more every time Jester smiles, and Jester never seems to stop.

“Yasha?”

Yasha closes her eyes, preferring the threat of her memories to the reality of her friend.

“Yasha, come inside.”

“No, thank you,” Yasha murmurs.

It’s the wrong thing to say, because Jester joins her on the balcony, her hair immediately wilting under the rain.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay out here too long.”

“I haven’t gotten sick yet, and I’ve been out here longer than you think.”

“Oh.”

Yasha looks over at Jester, at the water sliding off of her skin and onto the ground below as she hangs her hands off the railing. “What about you?”

Jester smiles, laughs a little. “Oh, I’m the best at fighting the cold. And I can handle a little rain.” She closes her eyes and tilts her head back as if to prove it. “How many other times have you been out here?”

“A few.”

“Yasha.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “More than a few. I like—I like to be close but I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Yasha, you’re not disturbing us.”

“Do you know you’re doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Including Beau. You said _us_ , but I was speaking of you.”

“Oh.” Jester furrows her brows. “Well, she is my roommate. You would be disturbing both of us if you came inside because she’s there, too. But that’s okay; Beau can fall asleep really quickly.”

Yasha shakes her head. “Thank you, but I’ll stay out here.” She swats at a few stubborn raindrops hanging from her chin.

“What did you mean, you were talking about me?”

Yasha sighs and exhales slowly. “There are things in life we cannot change. Most of the time I think I am one of those things, and there is something reassuring about that. I don’t remember so much about myself, so it is nice to cling to the parts of me that are the same. But I—these days I am conflicted in my feelings.”

“About what?”

Yasha shrugs. “The last few years? Everything I did while I was captured. My friendships with everyone, with Fjord and Beau. You.”

“Me?” Jester blurts. She clears her throat and looks behind her to see if Beau has stirred. “Yasha, you don’t have to worry about me. I know that wasn’t you, and I’ll always be your friend.”

“Yes,” Yasha nods. “That night on the ship, when I told you that I still carry Zuala with me?” Jester looks at her encouragingly, resting her cool hand on top of Yasha’s. It takes every bit of willpower not to flinch back. “She is...she is getting lighter,” Yasha admits. “I was not prepared for that to change.”

“And you’re conflicted in your feelings,” Jester says slowly, “about...me.” She blushes. “Oh.”

“I am always prepared to leave, if that is what you need.”

“No, Yasha!” Jester’s fingers curl around Yasha’s hand, scraping against rough stone. “We’ve watched you leave too many times; please don’t go.”

Yasha simply nods.

“I know some of what you’re feeling,” Jester murmurs. “We’ve been through a lot lately, you know, and things do change. It seems so silly to be worrying about love when we have to stop a war, but—“

Yasha looks down, chuckles a little. “It’s okay, Jester, you don’t have to pretend. Besides, you’re a terrible liar.”

“People keep saying that to me,” Jester pouts, “but they’re wrong. And I’m not pretending anything Yasha; I feel so confused inside and what if I’m confused about you; I could—“

“Jester.” Yasha hesitates a little before putting her other hand on top of Jester’s. “It’s okay, really. If you’re changing, I’m not the one you’re changing for.”

Jester’s tail winds around Yasha’s hips. “Right. I’m sorry, Yasha.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Yasha says, swallowing. “It is enough to be close. And things will change, in time.”

They stand in silence for a moment or two. Yasha feels the tip of Jester’s tail as it pokes into her side, the slide of raindrops down the back of her neck. Rain can do so much, she knows. Maybe this will wash away.

“Will you let me draw her?” Jester asks quietly. “So you don’t forget?”

There is water on her face that isn’t rain. (Yasha can tell because it’s hot). “Yes,” she replies. “I will come inside next time.”


	7. i could never leave you behind (shadowgast)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "overjoyed" by bastille

_these words are all we have, we'll be talking_  
_(and i hear you calling in the dead of night)_

/

Caleb is not a man of faith.

He is jealous of his friends who are, who have the comfort of guidance and a path. Caduceus wears his faith in his hands and offers a warm touch to anyone who asks. This is the first time Caleb has felt the urge.

They’ve spent the bulk of the last year in Rosohna, though Caleb knows none of them, save Yasha, will ever call Xhorhas home. But mediating a war ingratiated them to both sides, and Caleb tired of the Empire long ago. He is comfortable in their strange house, in their neighbors and the muted city of night. He and Beau don’t get looks anymore for being human, and his pale skin shines in the moonlight. When Beau says that, Caleb rolls his eyes. But coming from Essek, Caleb blushes.

Caleb takes time with his friendships because love is a matter of faith, and he has so little of it to give. The Mighty Nein wormed their way in quicker than most because of how fully they exist together; because shared experiences, even traumatic ones, have a way of bringing people closer no matter how much they might resist. It is overwhelming to love six people at once, and Caleb had thought he’d reached his limit.

But adversity is not the only thing that binds. Caleb can sit in silence with just about anyone—his friends will tolerate it (some even appreciate it themselves), and strangers don’t notice it. When Caleb disappears into a book in a public place, though the crowd may be loud, he is sharing silence with himself. It is an easy and familiar place to exist, and Caleb will never tire of it.

He is judicious, then, with whom he chooses to be loud.

It’s a funny thing, the study of magic. So much of it is comprised of books, of libraries and silence and research. But the more time Caleb spends on one spell, the more animated he gets. It is a fervor, the last hours of discovery; Caleb is barely able to calm the whirlwind of thoughts that pulse throughout his arms, tickling his fingers any moment they are inactive. He mutters to himself constantly, not anything distinct enough to form words but rather a steady hum of thinking.

As the weeks and months go on, Essek learns to hear him.

It’s not surprising that Caleb talks more around Essek—here is a man who understands what Caleb is trying to do, who is able to converse with him and offer genuine insight. Essek’s expertise with dunamancy gives him a preternatural command of magic, and Caleb is often surprised by the creativity with which he applies it. They pore over spells and formulas and rituals to research every plate they seem to be spinning: Nott’s transformation, the war, the increasing threat of Tharizdun, the portals that keep cropping up.

Caleb has always appreciated Essek’s mind, but after so much time spent together, he is learning to appreciate the man. His slender fingers holding a pencil, scribbling writing even more illegible than Caleb’s; the line of his nose as he speed-reads a book. Caleb knows more words than most, but the right one for the shade of Essek’s skin eludes him no matter how many minutes he spends looking. And suddenly Caleb is continually distracted out of his solitude of study, and all too happy to be.

It is only fitting, then, that they are called back to violence just as soon as he finds someone to relax with.

/

They are overwhelmed almost immediately. Tharizdun has many followers, many more than they realized. There are too many different sects and cults to track down and they are only seven people. (Eight if you count Essek—and Caleb always does—but he has responsibilities to the Dynasty that he cannot ignore, no matter how fond he is of their group.)

This is a fight they cannot win, and still they try, these seven broken people who have somehow combined to a whole. They fight until their clerics are sequestered away with the injured, leaving Caleb, Essek, and Yasha to fall on acts of desperation. Caleb is almost out of spells and Yasha is almost out of rage, and he’s not sure which is the more terrifying concept.

He watches as she takes another spell to the chest, this one knocking her down to one knee and pushing her back in the mud. She is very, very slow to get up, and when she rushes forward to fight again, Caleb makes the decision for her. He summons his cat’s paw and scoops her up, depositing her with the others hiding behind a very large rock. They will not let her leave again, he knows.

“That was either very selfless or very stupid,” Essek quips, suddenly beside him.

Caleb offers him a small smile. “Can’t it be both?” He motions toward a nearby tree, large enough to cover both of them for a few moments. Essek breathes heavily as he leans against it, his singed hair dangling in front of his eyes.

“Staring will not help us win,” Essek teases, smiling.

Caleb smiles back—grins, really. “Oh, we’re not going to win. I might as well stare.”

Essek nods. “I have an idea, but I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

“Why not?”

“I must do it alone.”

Caleb considers this—before the Mighty Nein he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have sent Essek off with a few words of gratitude for being the necessary sacrifice. But he knows now that numbers make a difference, that you win faster with more people to hold the line.

“Will it work?”

“Yes.”

“Will you return?”

A Fireball rocks the tree as Essek looks down. He twists shaking fingers and sighs.

“Not in this body,” he admits. “But we are in range.”

“Essek...”

“And what can you do, Mr. Widogast, hm?” Essek challenges. “Can you stop them?”

Caleb has two spells left and a body ready to succumb. Perhaps Essek is the same.

For that reason, Caleb lets him go.

“Ja,” he nods, “okay. Come here, please.” He gestures for Essek to stop hovering; it might be the first time Caleb has seen him do so outside of his home. Essek is not a short man, but he seems smaller on the ground.

Caleb lays his hands on either side of Essek’s face, trying not to linger too much and get lost. “I wish this goodbye were not necessary.”

Essek reaches up with one hand to hold onto Caleb’s wrist. “This is not a goodbye. I will find you again, in time.”

“Decades from now, across a whole world, you will find me?”

“You have grown into a man worth noticing, Caleb,” Essek smiles. “I’m sure it won’t be too hard. Besides, I could never leave you behind.”

But for the tether of Essek’s face in his hands, Caleb would have started to unravel by now. Certainly, he is not far from it. But there is more to be done, so he squares his shoulders and presses a kiss to Essek’s forehead—less than he would like, but only as much as he is capable of right now.

He lets go of Essek and takes a few steps back, summoning fire in both of his palms. “Hurry, please,” he murmurs. “I will cover you.”

Essek nods, hovering once again. He opens his mouth a few times, but swallows whatever words of farewell he’d been chewing. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, and then he leaves.

Caleb is not a man of faith. For Essek, he will learn to believe.


	8. first kiss (jestergard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "hands down" by dashboard confessional

_and you stood at your door with your hands on my waist,  
_ _and you kissed me like you meant it._  
_and i knew that you meant it  
_ _(that you meant it)_

/

“Talk to her,” Fjord says, his words dripping with more than a little frustration.

You roll your eyes and fling a handful of sand back at him.

It’s new, this thing you do together. Caduceus is so good at meditating, so comfortable with being still. But you and Fjord—the son of no one and the daughter of too many—are still struggling with it. He seems very intent on establishing himself as a proper follower of Melora, someone who takes time to consider his role and relationship with his god. Fjord is settling nicely into piety, and you simply need to learn how to exist comfortably inside yourself.

So most mornings you sit together wherever you are, even if it’s just for a few minutes. You have coats and furs when there’s snow, the shelter of trees for rain, boulders to shield against strong winds. No matter the weather, you find time to be calm with each other.

And so you find yourself on a beach in Nicodranas, sitting back-to-back with one of your first friends, watching the sun rise over the ocean. This is your favorite place in the entire world, and only slightly because of the place itself.

Fjord is breaking protocol by speaking but you’re not too bothered; you were itching to move anyway.

“It’s not—it’s stupid,” you mumble. “But I can’t.”

“Beau, if anyone can talk to Jester—and really, anyone _can_ —it’s certainly you.”

“No, I know, but like—” You dig your hands into the sand and clam up, digging as much as you can within your reach until you find a rock. It’s a small one, and you’re too far away from the water to make it in, but you throw it anyway.

“Do you think you’ll ruin your friendship?” Fjord prods.

You’ve thought about that before, when you first told Nott about your crush on Jester. It used to worry you but it doesn’t anymore, not after spending time with Jester afterwards without noticing any changes. Certainly there were changes on your end—feelings sit differently within you once you’ve said them out loud—but Jester was the same, cheery and understanding and so, so bright. She relaxed you immediately even if she didn’t know she was doing it.

“No,” you finally reply. “But it’s like—remember how Yasha was once we got her back? Like, how it just seemed like she was waiting for one of us to beat her up and she kind of flinched whenever we smiled? It’s like that.”

“I don’t follow.”

You sigh. “Whatever she feels, Jester is going to be so nice about it, and I—I can’t handle that, man.”

“So you’re just going to suffer in silence?”

“What are you guys talking about?” Jester yells, and you’re more startled than you should be. You whip around to see that she’s maybe thirty feet away, smiling and carrying a plate of donuts.

You elbow Fjord as hard as you can without Jester noticing. “You couldn’t warn me she was coming?” you hiss. “I’m gonna make _you_ suffer.”

“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots,” Fjord responds monotonously. But you feel him rubbing his side, and you’re soothed.

You get up and dust off your pants, walking over to Jester to take the plate from her hands. “Nothing, Jes,” you say with a smile. “Just meditating.”

“Okay.” She hugs you, squishes in closer the way she does when she’s cold and wants to steal your warmth. You can’t fight a smile even as you roll your eyes, hugging back with the hand not holding the plate. As she pulls away she presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving behind a few sugar crystals; you wonder if maybe that was closer to the corner of your mouth than she intended.

“Uh...”

“Good morning, Beau!” she chirps.

“Yeah, mornin’.”

Jester hugs Fjord with the same enthusiasm; he gives you a very deliberate look over Jester’s shoulder and you furiously shake your head.

“Are you guys about to work out or can we eat a big sugary breakfast?”

You should say no. You should stick to your training. Your body is your weapon and you can’t run the risk of letting it malfunction.

Your father and the monks trained you to be hard—for Jester, you will endure sentiment and sweetness.

“We can take a day off, I guess.”

Fjord quickly pumps his fist as the three of you sit down, plate of breakfast pastries in the middle as you all face each other. Jester immediately grabs the biggest one and smiles at you as she takes a bite, her eyes twinkling as if she knows a very good secret.

It takes everything you have not to visibly swoon. From the way Fjord coughs, you think maybe you did anyway.

Fuck, you have to talk to her.

/

But Jester sweeps you up in her energy the same way she always does, pulling you along for the ride and allowing you to forget, even for a few hours, about the part of you that is going to explode one of these days.

Every time you’re in Nicodranas, Jester wants to be outside, to do something fun or show you some special, secret place. But you’re just as happy to stay inside as long as you’re with her, so you don’t mind when it starts to rain and the two of you hole up in her bedroom.

It’s just as chaotic as Jester is, which isn’t a surprise. There are drawings and figurines shoved into drawers and shelves, worn and well-read books piled wherever there’s room. Organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless. You smile to yourself over the next few hours as you imagine Jester at the Cobalt Soul, frustrating every monk who might have tried to rein her in. Not even Dairon has that much patience, you’d wager.

As the afternoon wears on into evening and the rain doesn’t stop, both of you mellow out, setting aside card games and childhood mementos for storytelling. You never had any of this growing up, the kind of bonding that comes at night when people are relaxed and close to each other. You got along with some kids at school but your father was too protective to let you out of the house even for a night. Eventually, your friend group tightened and moved on without you.

You never really missed it until Jester, until you found someone with whom you deserved to share quiet nights.

“Beau?”

Your head bounces a little from where it rests on Jester’s stomach as she speaks. You’re both laying down—Jester vertically, her ankles crossed over each other, and you horizontally, so you can bounce a rubber ball off her wall. Using her as a pillow is just an added bonus, really, and you’re sure she would have suggested it if you hadn’t assumed.

“Hm?”

“We haven’t really talked about, well, about Kamordah, and I totally understand if you don’t want to, I really do, but—we’re best friends, right?”

“‘Course we are.”

“And best friends should be able to say everything to each other, even the hard things.”

You catch the ball and don’t throw it again. “Especially the hard things,” you say, trying very hard to calm your quickening pulse.

“Okay.”

Jester rests her hands near your head, absently tickling your hairline whenever her fingers get close enough.

“What’s up, Jes?”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” she asks, tripping over her words.

You crinkle your brows. “What, like to stay? Not a chance.”

“No, no; not to stay. But, family is complicated and I know your dad is a shitbag. He doesn’t deserve you, _any_ part of you, and I wanted to punch him _so_ much...” Jester takes a calming breath or two; you turn your head and look up at her, at the way she consciously works to relax her pursed lips. You can’t help laughing when she catches your eye.

She smiles back and scratches your forehead on purpose this time.

“You would be such a good big sister,” Jester says, her eyes soft and sincere. “You’re so good, Beau—you’re so, _so_ good—and you deserve the chance to give that to someone.”

“What do you think I keep you around for?” you tease.

By the way she looks at you, you think maybe Jester didn’t take it as teasing.

“Right,” she says, laughing halfheartedly. “It’s stupid; I shouldn’t tell you how to feel about your family.” She sits up on her elbows and looks out of the window, sighing when the rain doesn’t stop. “Sorry we’ve been stuck inside all day.”

You hum, just a little noise to show you’re there, that you’re listening. You want to pull her fingers down and tangle them with yours.

“What would you do,” you ask gently, “if you had a sibling?”

“Oh my gosh.” Jester huffs out a large breath; you can practically see the swirl of images and fantasies that must be playing in her mind. “I would teach them so much, like how to steal food from the kitchen or sneak up on Bluud or how to prank Mama’s clients, except I would make sure they were better at it than I was so they wouldn’t get caught.”

“You’d still want to get caught?”

“Well, yah,” Jester says, like it’s the most obvious answer. “If I hadn’t gotten caught, Mama wouldn’t have sent me away and I wouldn’t have found you. It’s like, I guess it’s like you and the Cobalt Soul only with less kidnapping.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s a good thing to not have in your life.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed the Traveler if I had a sibling,” Jester muses. _Maybe the Traveler wouldn’t have needed you_ , you think, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“That’s okay, though,” she continues. “I found most of this stuff on my own anyway.” She gestures to the knick-knacks that litter the room. “I guess it sounds stupid, when I put it like that. Wanting a sibling just so I can show them pranks.”

“Are you kidding? That’s exactly what siblings are made for.” You sit up and try not to jostle Jester too much. You look around the room, taking stock of all the stolen trinkets and homemade crafts. “Here, okay.” You stand and reach for a music box on Jester’s bedside table. “This? This is the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You cross the room and reach for a figurine on top of Jester’s bookcase that seems to be made of dried fruit and noodles. “This?” you say, pointing to it with an exaggerated finger. “Also the coolest fucking thing. And this?” You reach for a small ceramic owlbear, holding it between two knuckles as the noodle-man rests in your palm. “Absolutely fucking rad. This whole room is full of memories, Jes. Even if you only wanted a sibling just to share this stuff....what a gift, man. There’s like—” You flip the owlbear into the air and catch it on the back of your hand. “I could spend a whole day in here, just to listen to you tell me the stories of how you got all these things.”

You shove your hands in your pockets and look around at the piles and stacks of brightly colored novelties. Something buzzes inside your chest, a forgotten yearning. “Maybe I will go back again,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

But Jester is waiting for you when you turn back around. She’s standing so close you’re not sure how you didn’t hear her sneaking up on you.

“Do you mean that?” she whispers. Your face falls at the heaviness in her cheeks, the worry and wet in her eyes.

“What, about Kamordah? I dunno,” you shrug. “Not for my parents, but TJ—”

“No.” Jester shakes her head. “No, not Kamordah. About—about all these stupid things.”

“Oh. Well, yeah.” You rock back on your heels a little. “Nothing’s stupid when it’s yours, Jes.”

She looks at you like she might cry, like she’s carrying entire worlds behind her eyes and they’re on the verge of spilling out. You think about the few people you’ve looked at like that—you wonder, just a little—but no—

Jester kisses you just as you’re trying not to get your hopes up.

It’s clumsy, little more than just a firm press of her lips, but it’s so—Jester is everywhere else, insistent and enveloping. She walks you backwards and your surprised when your back hits her door—surely you were floating a moment ago.

Jester rests her hands on your hips; she’s unsure where to put them, you can tell. You also couldn’t care less, and you wrap your arms around her and kiss her until you run out of breath.

“Fuck, Jes,” you huff, at the same time that she heaves and “Oh my god, Beau.”

Both of you laugh, quiet and special and only for each other.

“Well.” You lick your lips, cup her cheek and swipe your thumb gently over the bridge of her nose. “We have some things to talk about.”

“Mhm.”

“But maybe, we could nap first?”

Jester smiles and nods, takes your hand and leads you back to her bed. You realize when you lie down that you’re still holding the two toys.

Jester lifts up her covers and waits for you to settle against her. You balance the owlbear and pasta-creature on her stomach and laugh as they immediately fall over.

“I’m gonna fall asleep soon,” you yawn, “but tell me a story first.”

Jester’s voice is just as warm as her arms, and when you sleep, you dream of her.


	9. i can't keep kissing strangers and pretending they're you (jestergard)

“oh, shit.”

jester turns to follow fjord’s gaze, landing on their very drunk monk as she stumbles through the front door. beau trips and spins around as she rights herself, her hands coming up in very loose fists as if to fight an invisible enemy. jester might find it amusing if this hadn’t happened for the past three nights.

“what is she _doing_?” she mumbles.

fjord shrugs next to her. “i’m not sure, but it’s your turn.”

“i know, i know.”

jester sounds annoyed but she’s really very worried. and sad, because something is probably really wrong. beau wasn’t even like this after molly, mostly. sure, there was keg, but that was almost kind of sweet from what jester could tell (and what she tried not to hear). this is—beau seems desperate, only jester has no idea what she’s desperate for.

it doesn’t matter at the moment, because jester knows she’s going to have a hard time getting beau to calm down. she’s come home riled up every night this week, and jester can’t tell if the bruises that peek out from under her clothes are the fun kind or not. so she sets her shoulders and walks over, approaching slowly just in case.

beau smiles dopey and big when she realizes she has company. “heyyy, jessie!” she drawls.

jester grasps beau’s wrists and lowers them, gently opening her fists. “hi, beau. did you have a good night?”

beau shrugs, teetering away from jester. the only reason she hasn’t fallen over is because jester won’t let go. “s’okay. ‘m glad to be home.”

“really?”

“yeah,” beau breathes. it stinks.

“can i take you upstairs then?”

“ _hell_ yeah,” beau winks. jester can’t hold back a smile. “luck keeps comin’ fer me tonight.”

“oh.” jester doesn’t blush but something twists inside her anyway. “well, good for you, i guess. here.” she turns around and drapes beau’s arms over her back, adjusting her into a more stable position before jester stands back up.

beau very lazily wraps her legs around jester’s middle. her head falls against the back of jester’s neck. “five gold still the goin’ rate?”

“ten gold,” jester replies as she maneuvers toward the staircase.

“wow, you’re more expensive ‘n yasha.”

jester smiles and hoists beau up. she walks the rest of the way in silence, hoping that maybe the movement will lull beau to sleep and she can just dump her on her bed.

maybe it would have if the walk were longer, but beau is still awake when they make it to the bedroom. she slides off of jester’s back and sits gracelessly on her bed. jester lies down on her own, propped up on her side and watching.

“is something wrong, beau?”

“wrong? pfffft. no way. ‘m great.” beau points her thumb at her chest in a sweeping arc. “ _i_ just had a very night—very nice night—with a super hot drow lady and i’m tellin’ you now, when this whole city falls in love with humans, that’s _my_ fault.”

“it’s your fault?” jester grins.

“mhm. i’m gonna change rosho—rasno—here.”

“well, you’re very charming; that’s true.”

“you know, i’ve always thought so.” beau nods, suddenly solemn. “thanks, jester.”

“you’re welcome.” jester replies without thinking, manners too ingrained in her to be left unsaid. “do you think, though, that maybe you could be charming in a...different way?”

beau furrows her brows. “like what?”

“well,” jester hesitates, “i know you like to have fun, and i definitely don’t want to tell you that you can’t. but maybe it doesn’t always have to be the kind of fun that’s drunk and horny and angry.”

“isn’t that kind of who i am, though?”

“what?” jester sits up straight in her bed. “no, beau; that’s not who you are at _all._ ”

“‘course it is. well, not always the drunk part, but.”

jester shakes her head. “maybe that’s who you used to be, beau, but that’s not who you are.”

beau scoffs and waves a dismissive hand. “nah, it totally is. s’like, we went back to kamordah, right. and my parents hadn’t changed, and my dad fuckin’—looked at me like i hadn’t changed. and that house—maybe i haven’t. s’okay. i know how to be this.”

“beau…”

“no, jes, listen. i know what you’re gonna say.” beau huffs and makes a poor attempt at jester’s accent. jester doesn’t take it personally, but it’s not fun, either. “i shouldn’t fight so much,” beau continues, “an’ i could be nicer if i tried a little harder. it’s not good to drink like this, and if i want to stop bein’ sad, i can’t keep kissin’ strangers ’n pretending they’re you. i got it, jes; i know that.”

beau doesn’t realize what she’s said; jester knows because she’s still smiling. meanwhile, jester couldn’t muster a smile right now even if she used her wand. she’s suddenly very grateful that beau is too drunk to notice.

“i’m going to get us some water,” she says, clearing her throat. jester walks out as quickly as she can.

fjord is still in the kitchen. he drops a cookie guiltily onto a plate when she comes in.

“i definitely wasn’t gonna eat that before tomorrow, ha ha…”

jester barrels past him and fills two glasses of water at the sink.

“jester, are you alright?”

“i’m fine, fjord; thank you.”

she’s definitely holding the glasses tighter than she needs to.

“you don’t seem fine.”

these glasses were here with the house when they moved in; the bright queen or at least essek would probably be mad if they broke.

“jester?”

maybe if she stands very still and concentrates very hard, she won’t end up with cuts on her palms and broken glass on the floor; she doesn’t even know where they keep a broom.

“jester…”

at the touch of fjord’s hand on her shoulder, jester takes a deep breath and whirls around, plastering on a large smile.

“thank you for being concerned, fjord, but you don’t need to worry. i know how to handle beau when she’s like this.”

“do you? did she say something?”

miraculously, the water is still exactly where it’s supposed to be. jester smiles, though she knows it’s too shaky to be believable.

“it’s fine,” jester repeats. “she’ll be alright in the morning.”

she walks away before he can say anything or (hopefully) follow her.

jester expects beau to be sleeping when she returns, but luck isn’t on her side tonight. beau is lying down at least, her legs hanging askew off of her bed. she’s mumbling something that jester can’t quite make out—if it’s a song, she’s a very bad singer.

jester walks over to beau’s bed and deposits both glasses of water on her nightstand. she kneels down and lifts beau up so she’s sitting enough to take a sip.

“here, drink some.” beau finishes half the glass and hands it back, finally looking sleepy and calm.

“thanks, jes,” she mumbles.

“sure.” jester sighs, takes both of beau’s hands in hers. “beau, i need you to know that i think you’re charming and funny and handsome. you’re smart, and you’re kind, and you’re angry in the right ways. you’ve changed so much even since i met you, and your dad is the biggest cockbag and he doesn’t know you at all—i don’t think he ever did.” jester swipes her thumbs across the backs of beau’s fingers and makes sure she’s looking at her. “every minute i’m with you, you make me feel loved. okay?”

beau nods, without a trace of levity in her eyes. “okay.”

“okay.” jester stands up. “i’m going to tell you how dumb this was in the morning, but for now you should definitely go to sleep.”

jester climbs in her own bed but doesn’t relax until she’s sure beau has settled. she watches beau kick at the covers for a few seconds before giving up and dropping her head into a mound of pillows.

jester smiles and turns on her side, snuggling in herself. the bed feels bigger tonight but she can think about that tomorrow, when everything is a little fresher. she listens to the sounds of the city, the distant crackle of torches and the skitter of mice in the street. she closes her eyes and listens until they turn into a drone, a pleasant hum that drowns out anything else and replaces it with a cozy kind of fuzz. jester can feel herself filling with it, letting it smooth over the cracks in her body and she’s almost asleep when—

“love you, jes.”

jester wipes away a tear. “i love you, too.”


	10. what happens if i do this? (jestergard)

beau wonders what caduceus does when it rains. 

does he sleep outside or does the water drip through the top of his little shack, or what. she’s waiting for it to rain inside the bedroom right now with how heavily it’s battering the roof. between the fading nightmare and the anticipation, beau’s heart is beating a mile a minute. 

she untangles herself from her sheets, kicking her feet out maybe a little harder than necessary. beau’s skin is clammy and her neck is dappled with sweat, in a way she knows would be super attractive if she were outside in the sun. in here—in the coolness of the room, the enveloping dark and unnerving stillness—beau feels small and afraid. she spreads her arms and legs out in an effort to make a noise she can control, but that only lasts until she worries about waking up jester.

even jester is quiet, so tired after a hard day of fighting that her tail is still, though beau can usually count on it to thump occasionally as she dreams. maybe jester is lucky enough to dream about nice things, or not to dream at all. it’s up to beau, then, to calm herself and chase away the lingering fear.

she thinks of everything blue that she likes—her old robes, once she made peace with being a monk; the sky in rosohna when she’s had a few drinks and can pretend it looks lighter; the ocean in nicodranas and how it’s never really the same shade of blue which means it never stops calming her. 

beau slows her heart rate with places and things, and, closing her eyes, slips closer to sleep with thoughts of jester.

(jester, laughing at the harvest festival as she and yasha catapult fjord. jester at night when fire flickers and dances a sparkle into her eyes. jester, quiet as she sketches her family and friends so full of life that they have to imitate it or risk turning her into a liar.)

jester, broken and bleeding at the mercy of an ogre; jester, tangled and limp in obann’s inky tendrils; jester, stunned and shivering amidst a hurricane of terrible whispers; jester, knocked out by beau’s staff; jester—

“beau?”

jester, weary and blanket-warm, her hand hovering over beau’s shoulder—always considerate, always careful when it comes to her friends’ feelings.

“yeah, hey.” beau clears her throat. “hey, jes.”

“you were breathing pretty loud.”

“oh. ‘s cool, i’m fine. go back to bed.”

instead, jester lets her hand drop onto beau’s sweaty skin, rubbing her thumb in the bend of beau’s neck. she scratches her fingernails lightly near beau’s ear and just stays there, waiting. beau doesn’t have it in her to resist, and she lets jester slide her hands under beau’s torso, lifting her enough to push her sideways. jester slides into bed next to her, lying on her back with so much patience beau almost starts to cry.

“what can i do?” jester whispers.

beau swallows and opens her eyes. she doesn’t turn her head but she can feel jester next to her, and maybe that can be enough. 

“don’t worry about me, jester,” she mumbles. “i’ll be good by morning.”

“okay, well, that’s fine. you could be good before that, though. do you want me to, um—” a light tapping sound brings a smile to beau’s face; jester’s tail, though it’s trapped between jester and the bed, has started to beat against the side of the mattress. after almost a year with her, beau has noticed that jester’s tail moves most when she’s thinking or trying to solve a problem, like she’s inspiring herself. beau supposes that makes sense, since jester is already everyone else’s biggest fan.

“i could tell you a joke,” jester continues, “or sing you a song, or—oh! i could tell you a story! i have so many stories, beau. i don’t think i could ever run out.”

beau grins and imagines everything she wishes she could do with jester. she imagines reaching down to hold her hand, to let herself fall asleep wrapped in jester’s safe and strong arms. she imagines squishing together on the couch in the library, dozing as jester reads out loud from one of her smut books even though caleb told her to stop. beau imagines stargazing on the roof even though there are no stars; relaxing in the hot tub until they’re both loose and comfy; trying to teach jester to meditate even though they always end up laughing.

if only she could dream of these things instead of her fears.

“i’m good, jes,” she promises, too hoarse to be convincing. “just having you here is enough.”

jester rolls over, her head rustling against half of the pillows as she settles. she reaches over to grab beau’s left shoulder and roll her to a similar position. beau is too amused to fight it, but her smile falls at the look on jester’s face.

“i can practically hear your pulse racing, beau.” jester’s voice is soft and worried. “please let me help you.”

maybe there will come a point in the future, beau thinks, where she reaches her fill of jester’s compassion, where she is no longer bowled over by it. but that point will never be at night, in the same bed in their shared room where even the thin xhorhaus walls block out the rest of the world. 

as it is, beau sees the empathy and tenderness in jester’s eyes, and finds she can’t meet her gaze anymore. 

“it’s nothing you can fix, jester,” she weakly protests. “just some old nightmares i’ve never been able to shake.” and some new ones to dig fresh wounds, but jester doesn’t need to know about those either.

beau thinks she might know about them anyway. jester wraps a hand around beau’s back, pulls her closer until they’re flush against each other. she brushes a lock of hair from beau’s eyes and beau’s heart starts to race for an entirely different reason. she gasps, just a little, as jester’s nails drag along her cheeks, coming to rest at the base of her neck. beau is sure jester must feel the thrum of her pulse inside her tattoo, underneath her skin.

they’re close enough that beau could count the tears on jester’s eyelashes if there were any. (she knows that jester might be doing the same for her now). beau—so careful, so controlled during the day—can hardly contain her love when jester is so close and soft at night.

jester brings her other hand up to rest on beau’s cheek. perhaps it’s an accident when her thumb falls atop beau’s lip, but it’s certainly a deliberate decision not to move it. beau opens her mouth a millimeter more, a movement so small it’s practically unnoticeable. 

she hears a sharp inhale as jester notices.

“what if i—” jester doesn’t speak so much as she breathes, dropping her attention to beau’s mouth. “what would happen if i—”

if this were anyone else, any other night, beau would follow jester’s lead. she would take the hint, close her eyes and let her body take over. but the dark is sneaky and beau is suspicious—any minute now, she’ll definitely wake up or get stabbed or jourael will rise from the floor and attack. she can’t trust herself right now.

but she can trust jester, and beau watches jester lean in, her thumb sweeping to the side as her lips take its place. she is tentative as she kisses beau, and beau feels her start to pull away. but this is jester—her best friend, her roommate, the most sincere person beau has ever met. jester, the woman she’s madly, painfully in love with, who deserves more than caution right now.

so beau slides her hand to jester’s collar, grabs on tight and pulls her forward. she rolls onto her back once more and lets jester settle against her, sturdy and solid and soft. she tries not to overwhelm jester as she kisses back, but it’s hard when jester is so overwhelming herself.

she breathes deeply as they break apart, foreheads resting together. beau licks her lips and wonders how long it will take before she can talk without crying.

“did that help?” jester murmurs.

laughter burbles out of beau. (not long, then). she lets her head fall back and wraps an arm around jester, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“yeah, jes,” she smiles. “i think that could help forever.”


	11. it was you the whole time (fjorclay)

The Clays are a family of makers.

In the subtlest of ways, but it’s still true. Everything is true once you unravel it; that’s what Caduceus has found in his time alone. He was raised slowly, to appreciate everything you have for as long as you have it. Sometimes things come back, but there is something to be learned from the loss if they don’t. He watches his family come and go, always composed and patient. They never know what they’ll encounter or when they’ll be back, but even that is knowledge on its own.

He stays to protect the woods, as is his duty. There are creatures to be tended to here, souls that don’t deserve to be forgotten. He preserves them in their gravestones, in his teas. Every cup he brews is another path—one already walked by the people he’s honoring, and one that he can choose to travel, if he wants.

He doesn’t want, for a long while.

The years pass as they always have, with his family and without. Caduceus learns the most about himself on his loneliest days, when he misses the nearness of loved ones—pranking Calliope, the softness of his mother’s arms, Clarabelle’s bright laughter. The sting fades over time, bubbling slowly to stillness like when you remove a kettle from heat. Perhaps he’s growing in his independence; perhaps he’s tucking them away until he forgets that they’re hidden. Everything will be resolved when it needs to be.

It seems like a sign, when five fractured people stumble into his forest. Caduceus can see their cracks as if they were intentional, as if someone had built into these travelers ways to break them. He smiles as he brews more tea—this is what Caduceus has lived for. He is very good at un-breaking.

Traveling with the Mighty Nein is an easy decision to make, another path to travel. If he didn’t walk it, no one would, and so he joins them on their quest. One of their quests. A few quests, many quests—maybe his quest. There are dormant wheels in his brain, rusted and overgrown with moss, that are slowly remembering how to turn. Some mornings, he has to shake himself free from the tangles and vines.

(The Mighty Nein are traveling as a group, pointing toward a common direction down a road they walk together. Caduceus has his feet in more paths than any of them. One for each member of his family, individually and as a unit; one for his newfound collection of friends; one for himself.

One for the wizard, who is learning that forgiveness doesn’t discriminate. For the goblin, who is learning to pick her vices wisely. For the trickster, who may wear herself thin quicker than she realizes; the fallen angel, whose friends are slowly helping her walk with a lighter step; and the monk, who never shares the weight of the arrows in her back.

One for the warlock of the sea, who must be remade in fire.)

He watches Fjord from the moment they meet, when he pulls the half-orc up from the dungeon floor. Fjord looks like the sort of person who has always been lost, or perhaps offered too many directions to follow without ever landing on one. He is hiding more than his friends realize, but Caduceus isn’t one to spill secrets, certainly not someone else’s. He simply watches, noticing and absorbing as much as he can. Every one of these people have enough secrets to fill a garden, but Fjord bleeds them like pollen. 

It’s a little unsettling and surprising, how much Caduceus comes to care for Fjord. He’ll never admit it unless asked, and even then not directly. Direct answers don’t always yield the proper knowledge; it’s why Caduceus finds comfort every time he communes with the Wildmother. She gives him guidance and leaves it up to him to take the steps. 

Each day, Caduceus’s affection becomes a little more directed, less of a fog and more of a trail. He hopes the Menagerie will have pockets to hide him.

When they unfurl Fjord from his seaweed wraps, Caduceus understands. 

Fjord was brandedStone but that isn’t his name; it doesn’t belong to him. Stones are hard and unyielding—even the smallest can rebuff most of what’s thrown at it. But Fjord is none of those things; he is learning how to melt, how to make himself without a mold. Caduceus is a caretaker, a groundskeeper for a forest yearning for rebirth. He understands cultivation—a planned process, one that must be carefully overseen. There are no accidents when it comes to growth.

He puts the pieces together as they take watch together one night, huddled around a dying fire. Fjord is alert as ever, his eyes scanning the night, never lingering too long in any one area. The color of his skin in the moonlight reminds Caduceus of the Blooming Grove and what it used to be, what he hopes it will one day be again. He feels a pang of affection in his chest.

“I can feel you staring,” Fjord mutters, still looking straight ahead.

“Sorry,” Caduceus drawls. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Seeds.”

“Ah.” Fjord nods. “The usual, then.”

“Not exactly. But I think I—I think I understand, now.”

“Understand?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. It was you the whole time.”

“Of course,” Fjord says, distracted. “Wait. Sorry, what? Me? What about me?”

A laugh rumbles through Caduceus’s body. 

“I get it, now.” He smiles, slow and calm, waiting as it stretches the width of his face. “You’re my garden.”


	12. i'm never letting go (jestergard)

“How long has it been?”

“I still don’t know, Jes. Send a message to Caleb.”

“He wasn’t here when we got stuck though.”

“Yeah, but, like. Every time you ask me how long it’s been, I’m gonna tell you to message Caleb.”

Jester flails back to hit Beau’s shoulder but falls short, fingers wiggling a few inches away.

“You’re lucky we’re stuck and I can’t get you.”

“You couldn’t get me anyway,” Beau smirks. “I got dope monk skills, baby.”

Maybe Jester can’t get Beau with her arms, but she can definitely whack her with her tail.

“Do you think you could use those skills to kick us free?”

Beau bends as far as she can to look at their trap from all angles. Their hands are bound between them, Jester’s arm outstretched and dragging Beau. Stretching to their elbows on either side is a metal manacle, three inches thick and, so far, impenetrable. It had started as a ball and untangled into a mess of thin bands before rearranging itself to fit their arms. Maybe if Beau had her gloves on she could do something, but this was supposed to be a chill day. Who needs weapons when you intend to relax?

“I mean I guess I could kick it,” she suggests, “but I doubt that’s gonna do anything. We already tried pulling ourselves free and it seemed pretty locked down.”

Jester growls and stomps her foot. “This is soooo boring! We can’t move and I can’t see you; how are we supposed to do anything?”

“Pretty sure that’s the point, Jes,” Beau chuckles. “But once we’re out of this we should definitely steal it. This would be super clutch in a fight.”

“Who _cares_ , Beau! Can we sit down at least?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s try. Slowly though; I don’t wanna yank your shoulder out.”

“Oh, thanks.”

They manage to lower themselves to the ground, only slightly awkward and wobbly. It still doesn’t feel great to have her arm stretched for this long, but at least Beau can take some pressure off of her legs.

“Remember that time we put you and Caleb in chains before we met the Bright Queen?”

Beau scoffs. “Hey, remember that time you grabbed my hand and started running, and I tried to get out of it but you yelled ‘I’m never letting go!’, and then you tripped over a big fucking metal ball and now we’re stuck here?”

“You don’t have to be so cranky about it.”

Beau reaches forward and tickles Jester’s forearm with her free hand. “I’m not really cranky,” she smiles. “But I have earned the right to give you shit about this for a while, I think.”

Jester, always ticklish, tries to pull her arm away. “Maybe,” she laughs. “Can we play a game?”

“What kinda game?”

“Ummm…” Jester looks around, but they’re unfortunately in the middle of a very empty field. They can’t even throw sticks or anything. “What do you think that cloud looks like?” she says, looking up.

Beau considers it for a moment. “Kind of a moorbounder? But with, like, a super misshapen head.”

“Oh my gosh, Beau, I miss the moorbounders.”

“You do? I thought they were kinda creepy.”

“I’m pretty sure Yarnball was starting to like me.”

“Yarnball would have eaten you as soon as he ran out of regular food.”

Jester gasps. “He would not have!”

“They’re giant fucking beasts, Jes. Not exactly prime pet material.”

“Beauuuu, were you scared of them?”

Beau is glad Jester can’t see her blush. “Absolutely not. I was _careful_.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

Beau points, even though, again, Jester can’t see her. “That one looks like Nugget,” she redirects.

Jester giggles. “Beau, that’s the same one you just said looked like Yarnball.”

“No way, this one’s so much cuter.”

“Nuh uh. It just changed shape a little, I swear.” Jester scratches at the inside of Beau’s palm with a finger. “You think Nugget is cute?”

“I mean, objectively speaking,” Beau shrugs. “In the way that all dogs are cuter than all moorbounders, I guess.”

Jester scratches her hand again and Beau flinches back, but can’t make it all the way because of the restraint.

“Jes, what are you doing?”

“Weeelll,” she sing-songs, drawing it out, “I really want to kiss you but I can’t, so.”

“Oh.” Beau takes a moment to let her heart explode, silently and in the safety of being unseen. “Dope.”

She scratches back.


	13. beauyasha, post episode 126

beau wakes up calm.

it’s a feeling so pervasive that she’s almost unsettled by it. their lives aren’t calm right now, between eiselcross and vess de rogna and now these eyes that keep popping up all over her and caleb. any calm she feels is usually immediately overshadowed by guilt for feeling it.

but beau can’t find it in her to feel guilty right now, not when the tower is quiet and there is a large, warm arm thrown protectively over her stomach. not when beau can feel the tickle of hot air at the back of her neck as yasha breathes, steady and restful in a way she doesn’t get to be when she’s awake. beau considers learning magic just so she can stop time and give yasha all the rest she deserves.

for now, she slowly rolls onto her back, taking care not to jostle yasha or slip out from under her secure embrace. she rolls over and doesn’t open her eyes until she’s on her back, the mirror directly above her, waiting.

it’s a sex mirror. of course it’s that, because caleb said as much when he told her about it, and god, does she owe him a week’s worth of uninterrupted research or whatever nerdy thing he wants in return. it’s a sex mirror and she and yasha have checked that off their list already, at least for the first time. second, fourth, something—they have definitely checked that off their list for a quantifiable number of times, it’s just that beau doesn’t quite know the number.

it’s a sex mirror but it’s also not because it’s more, because beau opens her eyes and can see the two of them as they are now—wrapped together, heavy and sticky in the illusory sunlight, sheets draped carelessly across their legs. they look good together. it isn’t the first time beau’s thought that, and with any luck (and a lot of hard work), it won’t be the last. but this is the first time that beau’s had the chance to really sink into that feeling, to see the reality of it and commit it to memory.

beau takes her time looking, glances over her own familiar body and the way it melts against one she can’t wait to know better. she should be a little cold perhaps, given that the sheets don’t go any higher than her hips and she hasn’t been wearing clothes for a good couple of hours. but yasha is so very _there_ , so wide and curled around her in a way that seeks comfort as much as gives it. she’s on her side, the parts of her that aren’t touching beau sprawled greedily across the expanse of the bed. beau could spend hours looking at this reflection of them, of yasha and the curve of her muscles; the way her skin actually seems to create a glare in the early morning light. it’s so bright normally, even brighter now for the nearness of beau. time is fleeting and the tower will disappear soon and so beau is greedy—she looks at the angle of yasha’s legs, the way she twitches her toes on the one foot that hangs over the edge of the bed. beau looks at yasha’s back, the slope and strength of it; she remembers how solid and warm it felt under her fingers just a few hours ago. beau has known how sturdy yasha is since they met—has lusted over it since then, to be honest—but to feel it within her grasp, to be pressed against it and to have it soften and yield at her touch…

beau would learn magic to give yasha the peace she needs. she would learn art to memorialize this moment and the way they look together.

she watches yasha sleep, clocks the way her nose is pressed into the crook of beau’s neck. she almost cries at the drape of yasha’s arm across her chest—a few inches down and she’d have a handful of boob. as it is, beau’s heart is beating a rhythm right into yasha’s palm. 

beau turns her head away from yasha and clears her throat. “hey.” she clears it again when it becomes clear just how ragged it’s gotten. “dachsies, can you hear me? or do i have to yell.” she waits, straining to listen for the soft clink of a tiny bell or two. “frumpkin?” she tries again.

there is a faint ‘mrrp’ and the door to her bedroom opens slightly, just wide enough for a lithe fey cat to slip through. she can’t see frumpkin as he enters the room, but he’s there all of a sudden, jumping noiselessly and weightlessly on top of the bed.

he stares at her expectantly and beau wishes very much that caleb isn’t snooping, too.

frumpkin walks forward and sits next to her, the not-quite-fur of his tail swishing against her side. beau can’t help reaching out with the hand that isn’t trapped by yasha’s body and giving him a few scratches under his chin. he preens, closes his eyes and tilts up to give her a better angle, and settles right back into his serious face when she pulls away.

“can you get the hot tub going again,” beau murmurs, “with some nice shampoos and shit? and maybe start working on a few dozen pancakes; i’m sure the others are gonna barge in here soon. make sure there’s a stack of spider ones for me and yash.”

frumpkin chirps again, butts his head against her chest as he jumps off the bed. beau reaches out to affectionately grab his tail, chuckling as it slips through her hands.

yasha is awake when beau turns back to look at her.

“hello,” yasha whispers. “good morning.” beau cuts her off with a kiss. “i love you.”

beau smiles at that, rolls over and presses herself firmly into yasha. she repositions yasha’s arm to wrap around her back, laughs when yasha drifts downward and squeezes her ass. beau kisses her again and again, slow and firm, catching any inch of lips or neck that she might have missed before. her hands roam without any destination, traipsing over the plane of yasha’s stomach, tickling at the dimples in her shoulders underneath which her wings sprout. beau knows how sensitive those spots are now, and she presses her fingers against them, syncs that up with another determined kiss. she doesn’t miss the way yasha’s tongue stutters against her own, the brief loss of contact she sacrifices to gasp, just a little.

yasha’s nails turn inwards and dig into beau’s hips, and beau returns the favor. 

beau reaches upward and grips yasha’s chin, marveling at the fact that her thumb seems to fit perfectly over the line of black beneath yasha’s lip. she pulls away and tickles the skin there, can’t resist one more kiss, especially when it elicits that special, breathy kind of laugh from yasha.

she makes sure yasha’s eyes are open and looking at her before she speaks.

“i love you, too,” beau says, her voice deeper and hoarser than usual, even for the morning. “last night was...i won’t _ever_ forget it, yash.”

“me either.”

“might have been the best night of my life.”

“not if i have anything to say about it,” yasha winks. “i wish we didn’t have to leave.”

“yeah,” beau sighs—breathes, really, and she falls a little more in love with the way yasha doesn’t turn her face away from what is definitely a bad case of morning breath. “we’ve still got some time before we have to, though. the dogs are setting up the hot tub right now.”

yasha laughs, deep and rumbly and beau feels it in her chest. “before all of you i never would have understood that sentence.”

“right?”

“mhm. it is—a very fun thing to think about.”

yasha gently lifts a strand of hair from beau’s face and tucks it behind her ear. beau watches the entire time, so entranced by the size and safety of yasha’s hands, so determined to follow their path with a kiss, that she misses yasha’s other hand coming up to rest behind her legs, and beau lets out a very uncool yelp as yasha lifts her from the bed.

yasha drags them across the mattress, stands and gets herself situated, and it isn’t until they’re halfway to the floating pad that beau clocks exactly how she’s being carried.

yasha’s arms are confident beneath her shoulders and legs, and beau has looped her arms around yasha’s neck instinctually, and tears start to well up in this moment of realization.

“yasha…”

yasha stops walking, leans down and kisses her, and it isn’t because they’re naked that beau is glad no one can see them right now.

beau flutters through her feelings and rests her head against yasha’s chest, silently, as they float gently down to the hot tub. 

everything seems more muted in the daytime—the lionesses aren’t as imposing, the slides aren’t as tempting. but the steam and smells are just as inviting, and beau lets herself be carried into the water, settling into the warmth as yasha reaches for the soaps.

they both slip under the water; beau shakes her head and scratches at her scalp while she lingers, getting out the last of her restless energy. she pops back above the surface and drifts over to yasha, who has settled into the corner, her arms resting elegantly atop the stone edges. beau drops into yasha’s lap without a word, humming, content, as yasha’s arms slip back into the water and wrap around her body. yasha snakes her legs over the parts of beau that her arms can’t reach until beau is completely covered, completely enveloped in her love.

beau has always been attracted to women who could break her—big, strong women whose bigness and strength almost always equated to a good, long time in the bedroom. and yasha has that in spades—probably invented it—but it sure is fuckin’ something else to know that breaking is only half of it, that the flip side is that beau can be fully contained and sheltered in yasha’s arms. bigness is a comfort as much as it is a challenge. yasha uses her size to hold and cherish just as much as she uses it to fight.

beau sinks down so that her nose is just above the surface of the water, and tries her very best to pretend she isn’t crying. the effort is abandoned when she gets out of her head and realizes yasha is very carefully and very thoughtfully soaping up her hair with thick, gentle fingers.

beau sits up a bit and spits some water from her lips. “how come you’re so good at that?”

yasha takes a moment to think, tilts beau’s head back so she can rinse the shampoo out. “zuala and i didn’t have as much time together as i wanted,” she answers, “but we made sure to treasure every moment we were allowed.” she rubs her hands together, presumably spreading conditioner over them; beau can hear the slickness of it echo through the air. “i am able to follow a god because i had a wife once,” she says, quiet and matter-of-fact, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

god.

“well, fuck.” beau closes her eyes and tries to relax her shoulders as yasha’s hands knead through her hair again. “did you—i mean, i don’t want to overstep but—it was like this? all the time?”

yasha is quiet again, patient with her feelings and beau and the combination of the two. she slows her ministrations and rests her hands on the sides of beau’s face, her thumbs tickling at beau’s ears.

“the only similarity between the love i feel for zuala and the love i feel for you is that it is coming from me,” yasha finally says. “it was like this, yes—and it wasn’t like this at all. it was different because it was her. the whole _world_ was different because it was her, you know?”

beau nods. “hope so,” she replies. “trying to, at least.”

yasha squeezes her cheeks, presses a kiss to the top of her soapy head. she gently pushes beau underwater and scrubs her hair clean with a little more force this time. beau lays back and watches, smiles as yasha scoops a hand underwater and brushes it over her lips.

beau sits back up feeling more refreshed and loved than she ever has in her whole life.

she swirls around to face yasha, lets the water guide her back to yasha’s lap. beau hooks her legs around yasha’s torso, lets the water hold her up as she drapes yasha’s hair over her shoulders.

“your braids could use a little touch-up,” she murmurs.

yasha, so sensitive and careful about her hair, simply nods and watches as beau lets it out, making tidy piles with the ties and ribbons on the ledge. yasha’s hair billows out once the last bunch is free; in the water, she looks beautiful and serene.

beau rests her hands on either side of yasha’s face, swipes her thumbs under yasha’s eyes as they kiss. “thank you,” she says, softly, “for loving me.”

yasha sighs and kisses her again. “you make it easy, beau. you don’t have to thank me.”

“i do,” beau insists. “for now, i do.”

she directs yasha away from the wall, takes her place in the shampoo corner. it’s a little different this time—beau can’t surround yasha quite as fully, and she has to wrap her legs around yasha and float to get a good angle to wash her hair. but yasha doesn’t complain, and she rests her arms on beau’s thighs and slides her hands over her legs, soothing and present. the water never cools off and the dogs are somewhere else, and for a few quiet moments, nothing in the world exists except this tub in this tower, hidden in a smelly, dirty tavern.

/

they’re clean and laughing in the kitchen by the time the rest of the party trickles in. beau can hear jester and veth speaking at cartoonishly loud volumes, announcing themselves just in case beau and yasha are doing anything worth being interrupted.

beau smiles, grabs a spider-less bite of pancake, and squeezes yasha’s hand.

“oh, here they are,” caduceus says as they file in. he takes a deep breath and smiles at the spread of food. “what a feast.”

he disappears, probably to make some tea, and beau looks at yasha for just a moment longer before the energy is too much to ignore.

she turns and almost bursts out laughing at the sight of everyone, lined up in front of the table, watching the two of them intently. veth’s eyes are as big as saucers and jester’s are shimmering, her hands clamped over her mouth. next to her, fjord is blushing and even caleb is sporting a smile, reluctant though it may look.

“hey,” beau says. she smiles casually and she means it.

“you’re so cute!!” jester shouts, flinging her hands away from her face. “oh my _god_ , you guys, you have to tell me everything; i’m so happy for you even though we had to sleep in that super stinky room. please tell me it was worth it.”

beau laughs, winks as she tickles yasha’s hand. “totally worth it, jes,” she promises. she gets up from the table, kisses yasha’s knuckles as she does, and gestures for jester to take her seat. “talk to yasha for a sec, okay? i left you some spider-cakes.”

beau is too focused on grabbing caleb to notice the way jester scrunches her nose.

she doesn’t catch fjord’s eye as she leads caleb out of the room and she definitely doesn’t look anywhere near veth. she just drags her cranky wizard to a corner out of eyesight of any window in the kitchen and crosses her arms.

“if you’re about to tell me everything,” caleb says, “please don’t be offended when i say that i would be happier not to hear it.”

“what? no, gross. i mean, not _gross_ -gross, but because—you, gross, right?” beau clears her throat, gently punches caleb’s shoulder to center herself. “i don’t...wanna tell you stuff. i just wanted to do this away from everyone else.”

caleb narrows his eyes. “do what?”

beau steps forward and hugs him. there’s no hesitation or coaching this time, just a strong press of her arms, and she stays there as long as it takes for him to hug back and mean it.

“thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “this was….very special to me.”

“of course,” caleb mutters. “you need only ask, beauregard.”

“yeah, you say that, but it’s like—i know it, now.” to her horror, beau sniffles.

“i am glad you had a good time.”

“the best.”

“you smell very nice. thank you for bathing before hugging me.”

“i got you, dude.”

“can you let go of me now?”

“yeah, sure.” beau steps back and gives him one last shoulder squeeze. 

caleb nods and squeezes back. he snaps his fingers and frumpkin is there, leaping onto his shoulder as they walk back toward the kitchen,

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to send more prompts over on [tumblr!](https://itcameuponamidnightqueer.tumblr.com/)


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